


More Than Evil Remains

by zzoaozz



Series: Hearts In Darkness [3]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (1999), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzoaozz/pseuds/zzoaozz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More Than Evil Remains - An author goes missing in the small town of Sleepy Hollow and his wife asks her old friend Professor Charles Xavier for help.  As Wolverine and Gambit search for clues  they stumble into a world of ghosts and shadows that make them doubt their own senses but they are not alone.  Ichabod and the Hessian reach out from beyond the grave to protect the Hollow once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into The Hollow

Wolverine watched the tall Cajun wind his way among the party goers with the natural finesse of a born socialite. He growled under his breath in irritation. Gambit was too far away to have heard the sound, but he chose that moment to lock eyes with his partner and grin sympathetically. Logan sighed. He most definitely felt out of place. He wondered for the hundredth time why the professor had sent him on this assignment, Warren or Storm either one would have been a better choice. He plastered on his best haughty smile and turned in response to a question from one of the elder Van Brunt's. 

He and Gambit had been sent to Sleepy Hollow in upstate New York to investigate the disappearance of one of Professor X's old college buddies. Doctor Marcus had come to Sleepy Hollow to do a book on the Headless Horseman legend. His wife had called the police when he failed to check in one night and then called them again when the requisite forty-eight hours had passed. According to Chuck's sources on the NYPD, the townspeople had been close-lipped and uncommunicative. They could find no trace of Marcus, alive or dead. There was no reason to suspect foul play, however, so the police had left the case open and advised Mrs. Marcus to sit tight and wait. She had promptly called Charles and asked for his help. 

Wolverine and Gambit had been dispatched to the scene under the guise of wealthy land developers looking for a spot to open a posh new resort. They had been greeted courteously enough, but Wolverine could smell the distrust and anxiety on them. There was no fear scent and no outright lies that he could recognize so he was not really sure yet whether they were hiding something or just one of those insular small towns that hated strangers. Whichever it was, he knew that he would get to the bottom of it soon enough. Gambit was slowly charming the town leaders and he was watching and listening. 

When the party finally ended, they walked back to their motel. The owner was a hazel eyed girl with a long, wild mane of black hair and a dark sense of humor to match. She had named the place "The Bates Motel." In smaller, neon letters under the name she had added the line " Rates so low you'll think we're crazy here." The horror movie motif even continued into the individual rooms. 

Wolverine and Gambit had been given "the Werewolf room". Pictures from The Howling, An American Werewolf in London, and The Company of Wolves graced the walls. The walls were painted dark green and trimmed in brown, the comforters on the two full size beds were a forest print of green leaves, brown trunks, and sun-dappled splashes. The back of the door had even been scored with a sharp object to look like something had tried to claw its way out. 

Jubilee had found the motel on-line and booked their reservation. She had conveniently forgotten to warn the X-Men that it was a theme hotel. Gambit had ranted for hours when they saw the room. His taste ran more to the Hilton than Motel Hell. Logan did not really care himself. The beds were comfortable, the showers had good water pressure, and there were no bugs anywhere. That was all he asked in a place to sleep. 

The Cajun disappeared into the shower for an hour or more as he did every night. While he was gone, Wolverine decided to start the mission with the obvious authority on scary legends. He made his way back towards the lobby letting the heavy scents of the forest and the clean night air clear away the last lingering scents of people, perfume, and cigarettes.

Inside the lobby, he found the owner curled in comfortable chair behind the counter laughing at an old Friday the 13th movie. She looked up at his approach and smiled. "Hey, Can I help you?" 

"Maybe. What do you know about the Headless Horseman?" 

"What do you want to know, the legend, the book, the movie, or the truth?" 

Logan settled into another chair facing the woman. "Start with the truth." 

He listened in fascinated silence to the tale of the Hessian troops and their deadly Horseman who had been betrayed by a spiteful child and beheaded by the townspeople of Sleepy Hollow. According to Elena, the Horseman had rested in an unmarked grave in the Western Woods, which not so coincidentally began directly behind the motel, until called up years later by the same person that had caused his death. She had sent him on a rampage, killing her enemies. She had used the Horseman's skull to control him and would have succeeded except for Ichabod Crane. 

Crane had apparently been a policeman from New York City, not a schoolteacher as the legends had implied. The story had been changed because the New York legal system vehemently denied that an Ichabod Crane had ever existed. Still, the town records were very clear on the matter. He had been sent to investigate the grisly murders and had figured out the evil scheme in time to save the Horseman's last target, the headman's daughter. Crane had then returned to New York, only to come back to the Hollow in a year's time. He had disappeared into the Western Woods one night and never been seen again. 

Elena hesitated there and frowned. "The records aren't too clear from there. What is certain is that the headman at the time was Baltus Van Tassell who was killed by the Horseman along with his wife and most of the town elders. His daughter, Katrina, left Sleepy Hollow with Crane and returned alone shortly after him, eventually marrying into the Killian family making them the wealthiest family in town to this day. An indentured servant also left with Crane and never returned. Some stories say that the townspeople buried the Horseman's body in the churchyard, some say his ghost horse ran away with his bones on its back like a living rider, and some say that they burned up as soon as the light of day hit them. No one really knows the truth from there, or if they do, they aren't telling." 

Wolverine chuckled, "You've probably told this story a million times, huh?" 

"Nah," the girl shook her head. "Not many people talk to me. They think I'm weird for liking scary books and movies better than the real world. Being an outsider doesn't help, even though I've been here for ten years now, they never forget I was born in Tennessee not The Hollow." 

"Why do you stay here if the folks are that unfriendly." 

She smiled a little ruefully, "I love these woods and the Horseman legend. I put my heart and soul into this place, not to mention my life's savings. I couldn't leave if I wanted too...too many roots." She giggled, "Pardon the pun. I just can't resist." 

Wolverine laughed. "That's alright, Darlin'. I've heard worse." 

He faked a suddenly serious look, "It doesn't sound like business is very good, and we're thinking about opening a place here ourselves. Have you had any guests here recently? Is there enough business for two. I'd hate to take away from your life's passion here." 

"Oh, I'm not worried, the kind of place you're talking about draws a slightly different crowd than my humble establishment. I get more guests off the Internet than anything else. Other fans like myself. They can usually relate to me better than the yuppies and social butterflies you guys will draw." 

"Do you ever get people coming in just to talk to you? You seem to know your stuff." 

"Now and again. There was a man here about two weeks ago who was writing a book about the Horseman. I told him all four versions of the story." 

"Is he staying here?" 

"No, he was staying at the Van Tassell house. It's a boarding house on the big hill at the end of town. That's where the headman and his daughter lived in Crane's time and where he stayed while he was in the Hollow. They say he stayed in the attic room." 

'Is the writer still in town, I'd be interested in finding out what he thinks about the story?" 

"That's the weirdest thing, he went missing. The police came looking for him but nobody saw him leave town. They searched the woods and didn't find anything there. His car was still here, but all his clothes and stuff were gone when they checked the boarding house. I still haven't heard anything on the news. I sure hope he's alright. I can't wait to read his book...that sounds mean doesn't it...but it is true." 

"I understand. Well, if you hear anything about him let me know. I'm curious now. I've kept you long enough though, I'll let you get back to your movie."

"Good night, sleep tight, don't let the monsters bite." 

"They'd better watch out if they try, I bite back." 

Her laugh followed him out into the night. 

Back in the room, Gambit was out of the shower and toweling his long auburn hair dry. A second towel was draped around his waist. His back was to the door. Logan found his eyes wandering up the Cajun's long legs over the towel and up his back. He could count the ribs beneath the well tanned skin. The boy had not so much as an ounce of fat on his body. He could see corded muscle slide under the perfect skin as Gambit flexed. 

The Cajun shivered in the draft from the door and Logan quickly closed it and tossed himself down on his own bed. Briefly he told his partner what he had found out.

"Well, that's more than we found out at the party, no?" 

Logan found himself staring as Gambit dropped the towel around his head and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. Wet, it hung in loose curls around his face giving him a younger, more fragile look. The kid was pretty like that, no other word fit just right. 

Gambit cleared his throat and asked again about what to do next. He refrained from laughing as Logan started and broke his eyes away from his face He had begun to think that this trip might prove interesting after all when Logan informed him that the town archive was their next destination. He groaned and flopped back on his pillow. Every city archive he had ever been in had been in the basement of some run down, somber looking building, full of dust and cobwebs, and manned by the most unlikable, irritable creatures living on the planet. 

"Quit your bitching and get some sleep, Gumbo."

Gambit sighed and turned out the lights, then yelped as glowing eyes stared back at him. He flipped the lights back on, blinding himself. He heard Logan laughing before his vision cleared. it took him a moment to figure what the Canadian found so amusing, then he saw the stickers that nearly blended into the ceiling. He uttered a few select curses in french and English and flipped out the light again, ignoring the glowing decals above each bed.


	2. Nightmare

Gambit drifted into sleep and found himself dreaming. 

He was walking through the woods on an overgrown trail. There was a low rumbling of thunder. He listened a moment waiting for the peal to end, but it grew stronger instead, louder, closer. He turned to see an enormous black horse come bounding from the woods. It came to a rearing stop in front of him, screaming like a lost soul. The rider on its back looked at him and Gambit was afraid. 

The Horseman was tall, broad shouldered, and ghostly pale against black leather armor. His long cloak belled out behind him in a wind Gambit could not feel. He leaned forward and his eyes became clearly visible, strange silvery grey eyes that glowed faintly, eerily. He had a shock of wild black hair and sharp features. He grimaced and Gambit could see sharp pointed fangs instead of teeth. 

Gambit took a step backwards, feeling behind him for anything loose that he could charge, since he was not wearing his coat with his cards in the pocket, or his clothes for that matter. The rider turned a little to glare at him. Gambit held his hands up in a conciliatory way and managed to speak. 

"Gambit got nothing. He don't know if you're a mutant, a demon, a dream, or something else and he don't care. Just let Gambit go back to the hotel. Okay?" The Horseman ignored him and turned to look up the trail in front of him. Gambit looked as well, glad to have those terrible eyes off him. 

There was another pale, dark haired figure on the path, a slender young man with enormous, brown eyes and a hesitant, nervous smile. He looked from where Gambit stood to the Rider and his smile changed. his features softened and his face took on a dreamy expression. His smile lit up his whole face. He was beautiful like that, one of the prettiest men Gambit had ever seen and Gambit had seen more than a few.

The new arrival moved with absolute assurance to the rider's side. Resting a hand on the Horseman's knee, he smiled up at the creature. Gambit had seen that kind of look more than a few times as well. The pretty young man loved the glowering monster, trusted him, knew him. He realized that this was his chance and was gathering himself to run when both of them turned to look at him. He found himself frozen in place. 

The young man spoke swiftly in an old fashioned British sounding accent. "You have to watch out for Her! She's abroad and after revenge...the archer is the key, remember the archer..." 

The rest of his words were drowned in a screaming wind that descended suddenly upon the trail. Gambit saw the young man step forward and reach toward him and heard the rider growl fiercely, then the wind pushed him back off the side of the trail and he was rolling down a steep embankment. thorns scratched at his bare skin and slim branches whipped across him raising welts across his cheeks and legs. His descent was ended suddenly as he plunged into icy water. 

He kicked and fought his way toward the surface. He grabbed a deep breath and tried to see the bank, but something grabbed him from below before he could see a way out. It wrapped around his ankle in an icy band and began to pull him down. he struggled wildly, twisting around, trying to find what held him. He caught a glimpse of a pale hand with long, perfectly manicured nails just before the water darkened. It swirled around him growing thicker and darker. his head seemed to be filled with a salty, coppery odor. 

"Blood...I'm drowning in blood," he thought vaguely as his lungs screamed for air. 

The hand was still pulling irresistibly downward. 

The need for air became to much and he gasped. He tasted blood as the viscous fluid rushed into his mouth. He gagged and fought even more desperately. The hand's grip lessened for an instant. He kicked free and shot up to catch a saving breath. 

He heard a shout at the same time the hand caught his ankle again. He saw the young man on the shore and his cruel looking lover. As the blood closed over his head again, he saw the rider's arm rise and the flash of lightning illuminated something flying toward him, then his head was under and he saw nothing except the sparks of light behind his eyelids. The lights exploded as something bit deep into his shoulder. Then he was being pulled swiftly through the water like a trout on a fishing line. 

His head broke the surface and he saw a rope flying in front of him, a rope that was attached to a metal spear of wrought iron, a spear that disappeared into his shoulder. He tried to pull back and managed to turn around enough to see behind him. Something was coming after him, something that was not human. It's hand was stretched out toward him, a mad grin stretched its mouth full of needle sharp teeth like a piranha's jaws. He screamed.


	3. Warning

Gambit bolted upright crying out. He was wringing wet with sweat and his heart threatened to tear loose from his chest. The nightmare still wrapped him in fear as if the waking world were the dream. It was the sound of metal claws hissing out and Wolverine's voice, thick with sleep calling his name that finally freed him from the terror enough to realize that he was back in the motel, back in his bed. He looked up from under tangled bangs at the Canadian standing in front of him in his underwear, claws unsheathed, and looking for some enemy to carve up. He felt the urge to giggle at the absurdity of it and realized with surprise that he was trembling. 

Logan sniffed, picking up his fear and not finding any source for it. He could see the Cajun shaking and dropped onto the bed beside him retracting his claws. "Ya okay, Gumbo? Just a nightmare?" 

Gambit started to reply then felt himself slipping away back into the dream world. He heard that same voice, the voice of the pale young man warning him to stay away from Her, whoever 'Her' was. An icy hand tangled in his hair trying to pull him back, the sharp pain in his shoulder took his breath away. He lurched forward throwing his arms around Logan, clinging to his warmth, his solidity, and closed his eyes refusing to see or hear anything more. He trembled, not with fear now, but with the effort of holding on to reality. He concentrated on the roughness of Logan's cheek against his, the rise and fall of his chest with his breath, his concerned voice. After what seemed an eternity, the unreal feeling dissipated leaving him shaken and more than a little frightened. 

Logan felt the Cajun collapse against him. He knew something had happened, but was completely at a loss as to what to do about it. He pushed Gambit's long bangs out of his eyes. "Ya' okay?" 

"Oui, I'm alright now, Just don' let go, mon ami. It's still there, waiting." 

"I gotcha kid, nobody's gonna hurt you. Tell me what's going on, were you attacked?" 

"I don' know. I was dreaming but there was more to it than a dream, I think it was supposed to be a warning, and something else heard it and tried to kill me." He told Wolverine what had happened in the nightmare and everything the dark haired man had said. Logan listened to his account intently and when he was finished caught the back of his head and pushed his face gently down against his neck long enough to switch on the lights without hurting his sensitive eyes. 

He pulled the tangled sheets off the younger man and examined him. There were no scratches that he could see, but his shoulder was hot to the touch and a blackish-purple bruise encircled his left ankle. The imprint of fingers was plain to see against his pale skin. He growled deep in his throat and leaned over the ankle trying to get any trace of scent. There was none. He felt as much as saw Gambit shudder at his touch and realized what he must look like stretched out across the thief's long leg practically nuzzling his slender ankle. 

"Sorry about that, kid. Your dream left a nasty bruise, but no trace of scent. You think there's a psychic mutant out to get you?" 

"I don think so. That femme the boy warned me about hurt me. I think she was some sort of demon. The rider was too, but I got the impression that he was trying to help me get away. I know this much, something's going on in Sleepy Hollow that is not normal." 

"Yeah, something that ain't normal, something that's decided it don't like Cajun's nosing around even in their dreams." 

"Great, can Gambit go home now?" 

"Nope, Gumbo, might need you as bait." 

"Ha, ha, funny, very funny, Wolvie." 

Wolverine started to stand but felt a hand seize his wrist before he made it up. He looked at Gambit curiously and saw the younger man actually blush. 

"Don' go." Gambit looked down at his hands and seemed at a loss. 

"I'll stay here with ya and wake you up if you start to dream." 

"Thanks, Logan." 

"Shut up and scoot over, Gumbo."


	4. Journal

Wolverine woke up to find the lanky Acadian wrapped around him like a second skin. His body was reacting predictably. He sighed and tried to extract himself only to have Gambit tighten his grip and snuggle even closer. The Cajun ground his hips against Logan's burgeoning erection muttering something incomprehensible in French. Logan growled in frustration. 

Gambit was still sound asleep, he was not intentionally teasing him, but the feeling of his silky skin, the soft brush of his hair, and his unique scent were swiftly eroding his control. The last thing the kid needed after the night's events was for him to loose control and let the feral animal inside of him have its way with the Cajun. Maybe if he were forty or fifty years younger....He squashed that thought before it began.

With a reluctant sigh, he rolled off the bed and stood up, dumping Gambit unceremoniously on the floor. To his credit, the thief was in a defensive crouch the minute he hit the floor with a glowing card between his nimble fingers. 

"What did ya do that for Gumbo? Another dream or were ya just anxious to get to the archives? We won't wait then, I'll take a shower then get breakfast while you're in. We'll get to it faster that way." 

Gambit blinked red on black eyes at him, obviously confused. He shook his head as Logan disappeared into the bathroom, laughing. Gambit had the strangest suspicion that the laughter was somehow aimed at him. He yawned and rubbed his shoulder. It was much better than the night before, just a little sore. He pondered for a moment on whether he might have hurt himself thrashing about and just imagined the whole thing, if it was just a plain old nightmare, but one look at his ankle put that thought to lie. It was as badly bruised as it had been the night before and one did not need to use much imagination to see the hand print, a slender, long-fingered hand, a woman's hand. 

The cold shower helped, Logan felt more like himself as he sauntered past Gambit and out into the grey light of pre-dawn. he breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of hardwood, pine, and leaf litter all around him. The birds were just beginning to call to one another. He could here the near silent whoosh of a late owl swooping somewhere overhead as it winged its way back to its nest. The place reminded him of home. He decided to walk the short distance into town proper to get breakfast. 

He was almost there if his nose was any judge. The smells of car exhaust, food, and people were beginning to drown out the smells of the forest. Wolverine realized he had slowed his pace wanting to prolong his time away from humanity. His vision blurred and for a moment, it seemed as another world were superimposed on the one he considered his own. 

The well paved lane beneath his feet was a dirt path, the sound of cars faded into the lowing of sheep. The smell of pavement and steel was supplanted by the scents of wood smoke and horses. He was looking out toward the town, no the village, and waiting for...for someone...something...he was not sure what. The birds fell silent, afraid. Of what? Of him, his mind whispered back, they were afraid of him, all except his boy, his hubscher Junge. 

Then as swiftly at it began, the strange sensation left him. Logan looked around, confused. The birds were still silent. It took several minutes before a fat mockingbird in the tree over his head gathered the courage to scold him for whatever had happened. He shook his head to clear it and turned in a slow circle extending all his superior senses to their limit. There was nothing, no trace of scent, no sounds, no movement that did not belong in a forest like this one. 

Gambit had just finished getting dressed when Wolverine returned and tossed a bag onto the nightstand in front of him. He stared at his partner for a moment then asked what was wrong. 

"Nothing, Gumbo. Eat your food, we got a long day ahead of us." 

He narrowed his eyes but let it drop. It took more than "nothing" to make The Wolverine look as nervous as a teenager on prom night. He also knew that if Wolverine wanted him to know something, he would tell him in his own sweet time. 

That was the Canadian's way, and as much as it infuriated his teammate, Gambit had to respect it. Logan would never pry into his affairs, past or present, and he owed the older man the same respect. That was exactly the reason why he would never get the opportunity to do more than flirt with his friend. Wolverine might trust him with his life, but his heart and soul were locked away deep in his past, just like his own were. 

They were that much alike, but there the similarity ended. Gambit indulged himself in numerous shallow affairs and ran whenever a lover threatened the security of his masks and walls. Logan just stayed alone. Gambit had checked up on him enough to know that he did not engage in sex except with the few people he had loved. 

His last love had been Mariko. Gambit had heard Logan cry for the first and last time at her grave. Gambit had wept for his friend, had stayed by his side and seen the walls close around his heart, the pain in his eyes turn to cold hate and the burning need for revenge. He could only hope that someone would love him like that someday, love him enough to tear down the walls and find the man inside. 

He sighed and pulled his hair through his ponytail holder. It was highly unlikely that he would ever find a real love, even if it did exist. He would have to trust enough to let them inside and he did not think that he would ever be able to that, to trust another with himself, his past, his secrets, his heart. He had a hard enough time trusting himself. 

The archives were exactly what Gambit had come to expect, a low bunker-like, brick building, as windowless and grim as any prison. The clerk was a older lady, tall and thin as a rail, half blind, and deaf as a post with not a trace of humor in her whole body. She watched the 'investors' enter the public records room as if they were there to steal her charges, not just look up statistics. It was a half hour before she left them alone. 

The day passed quickly, Logan's stomach was growling by the time they got through the council records of the past six months. There was no indication that the Professor's friend had been there at all. That was strange in such a small insular village where any stranger was dutifully recorded and speculated on. 

As Logan put the last tome back in place, he noticed a puddle of darkish liquid on the floor under the shelf. He knelt and sniffed. The fluid had a strange, acrid smell, nothing he recognized. His enhanced hearing caught the sound of dripping and followed it to its source. There was a black, leather bound book pushed back between two collections of wool production records. As he watched, a drop of black, bitter liquid welled up from the base of the spine and gathered before dropping to the floor. 

He reached for the book and pulled it out of the slot, expecting it to be wet, ruined, but it was dry. The moment he touched it, the liquid seemed to disappear from the book and the floor as well. Only the scent remained. 

"Did you see that, Gumbo?" 

"See what?" 

Logan did not answer, just stared at the unmarked book in his hands. Someone had meant him to find this, or something. He shivered. This place seemed made to give visitors the creeps. He would be jumping at shadows before much longer himself. 

"Whatcha got there?" 

The Cajun hovered over his shoulder as Wolverine opened the book carefully. It was a journal. The name on the title page was Ichabod Crane, but the dates on the page headers inside did not mesh with what he already knew. 

"Get me that volume four there, Gumbo, in the big grey books." 

He flipped through the pages and ran his finger down a long column of dates. 

"This date is Ten days before Crane went missing in the Western Woods. The records say there was no trace of him after then, but this journal says otherwise. The last date in the book is two months after that." 

He caught the sound of the clerk heading their way. She probably wanted to close up for lunch. 

"Can you sneak this out, Gambit?" 

"Are you kidding?" Gambit looked mildly insulted and snatched up the book. It disappeared somewhere in the depths of his trench coat so quickly that even Wolverine's enhanced senses failed to detect where it went. 

After a quick lunch of burgers and fries, they settled back in the motel to look over the Journal. It began with an account of the events that had occurred on Ichabod Crane's first trip to Sleepy Hollow. The tale corresponded pretty well to the motel keeper's narrative. If the journal was authentic, it confirmed that Crane had been a constable sent from New York, that he had uncovered a plot by Lady Van Tassell involving murder and collusion liberally sprinkled with hints and allegations of magic use. It also confirmed the existence of the Headless Horseman. The account described the Horseman with obvious admiration. 

"He was falling in love with d' Horseman, even then. He just didn't know it yet." 

"What?" 

Gambit explained how the young man had looked at the nightmarish demon in his dream vision of the night before. "Gambit seen enough people in love with him, both femme and homme to know it when he see it." 

"Yeah, the curse of having a pretty face, huh." 

"Trust Gambit, it ain't all it's cracked up to be." 

There was a strange sadness in his voice that made Wolverine stare hard at the younger man. "What does that mean, kid?" 

"Nothing just ancient history, this place seems to do that to me." 

"I know what you mean." 

The journal recounted Crane's return to the Hollow almost exactly a year after he first left and the fantastic story of what happened then. Logan's reading faltered a little when he reached the part about Crane's reunion with the Hessian. Gambit laughed and took the book from him. 

Hearing him read about the young man acknowledging his love for the ghost did strange things to the Canadian. Gambit's accent disappeared and his rich voice seemed to capture Crane's emotions perfectly. Wolverine found himself spellbound watching the Cajun's mobile face and listening to someone else's thoughts and feelings wrap around them. Time seemed to stand still. The narrative ended with the constable and the Van Tassell girl making an uneasy truce. 

When Gambit stopped reading, Logan actually started. It was dark and a storm was moving in. Gambit looked up as a flash of lightning illuminated the sky followed by a low rumble of thunder. The younger man shivered. The spell of the journal seemed to hold both men in silence as a heavy rain began to pound out a rhythm on the metal roof of the motel. 

Gambit was the first to break the silence with a rueful chuckle. "It's a good read, non?" 

"Yeah, you think that the thing in your dream was this witch of theirs?" 

"If it was, it sure didn't look like Crane described her, it didn't look human at all except for the hand." 

"Crane said something about the archer, right? The journal says Archer was the maiden name of the Van Tassell woman. Maybe we ought to start looking at the ruins of the Archer Cottage Crane talked about. If it's still there. I'd also like to find where Crane moved the Hessian's grave to, find out if someone's trying to make it look like the Headless Horseman's running lose again. The journal doesn't say where he moved it." 

"Maybe there'll be a clue at this cottage. Gambit has got the strangest feeling we're being led like lambs to the slaughter." 

"Well, whoever's doing the leading is gonna find out he's got hold of a couple of wolves in sheep's clothing, eh, Cajun?" 

The younger man grinned, "Damn right, Old Man." 

They spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out where the cottage should be on a current map that they had picked up at town hall. When Wolverine was pretty sure he knew where they needed to go, he settled back to reread the journal. He wondered if it was a fake. The old fashioned handwriting and peculiar spelling looked authentic enough. The book smelled old and just a little mouldy, as if it had spent some time in a damp place. The smell of the black fluid was gone completely as if it had never been there. There was no scent of lotion or skin oil, nothing to indicate that anyone except for Gambit and himself had ever touched the book. He felt strangely certain that the book had not been in the archive before he had seen the liquid. Some gut feeling told him that he was the first person, the first living person, to ever see the journal at all. 

He stared out the window at the raging storm and wondered just what was out there.


	5. Eternal Lovers

Deep in their lair between life and death, Ichabod Crane and his demonic lover lay listening to the storm above them, still wrapped in the warm glow of their lovemaking. The Horseman stared at his beautiful angel in undisguised awe. He knew what it had cost the boy to allow his journal, even heavily censored, into the strangers' hands, to let them look into his very soul and pass judgement on what they found there. He had found the courage in his conviction, in his sense of right and wrong, his morals and values which had not weakened one whit in the decades he had lain undead in the grave that love had led him to choose over life. 

The Hessian cared little himself, what happened to the strangers in the Hollow so long as they stayed out of the woods that would always be his, but his love did care. Nothing in Heaven, Hell, or the Earth between mattered as much to the mercenary as the concerns of the human boy that had taught him to feel again, the one who had found beauty in the darkest of demons, the child who had given him everything his body, his soul, his heart, his very life. For Ichabod, he would care. 

"They will come tomorrow, Little One." 

"Yes, I think you are right, Christiaan. We need their help to stop them. Thank you." 

"For what?" The Hessian gazed at Ichabod, confusion showing in his stormy grey eyes. 

"For doing this for me, for trying to stop them." 

He should have known that Ichabod would know exactly what he thought and felt, he had always read him like a book. Words had never come easily to the dead soldier so he answered in the best way he knew. He caught the boy's lips in a kiss that took the younger man's breath away, hard, demanding, begging Ichabod to read the words that burned in his heart. Ichabod buried his hands in the thick, black mane and pulled his lover even closer and he knew that the boy understood without words, without doubts or misunderstandings all that he was, all that he felt. Any walls that had stood between them when first they had begun were long gone, crumbled into dust beneath the blazing sun of their love, torn down by truth, honesty, and need. They needed no words, no gestures, nothing, for they were one.


	6. Losing Control

The cold shower was not helping at all. 

Wolverine growled in frustration. A low peal of thunder seemed to mock his anger. He twisted the knobs viciously shutting the water off and leaned his head against the cool porcelain of the shower stall. The story had aroused him more than he would have believed. Between the raging storm, the strange events that had occurred since their arrival, and the way Gambit wore pure sensuality like a cloak around him, Logan was finding it near impossible to control the animal urges of his own body. 

He wondered what the Cajun was thinking now. He had bolted from the room into the small shower without a word. He had no choice. Every feral instinct, every animal sense, had homed in on the Acadian without warning. His scent had filled his nostrils, he could almost taste him on his lips, he could hear the steady rhythm of the younger man's heart. He had realized what was happening just seconds, fractions of seconds, before it would have been to late to stop it. 

He turned the water back on at a more normal temperature and stretched in the stinging spray. He did not really think that he was capable of rape, even at his wildest, but he could not take the chance. As soon as they had their answers here, he would go on a sabbatical to the Canadian Rockies or maybe further north to the arctic. Someplace cold would soothe the beast within and help him find his center again. This place was the problem, the strange sense of duality he had felt since his hallucination on the path to town. 

Gambit listened to the shower start up again and sighed. He was pretty sure he knew why Wolverine had fled the way he had. He had lost control of the charm power completely, something that had not happened to him since... He pushed the loathsome thought away before it could surface and open all the old wounds. He felt dampness on his cheek and scrubbed it away angrily. 

This place was messing with his mind, with his emotions. He had been looking out the window at the lightning when he had been gripped by a wave of desire and need that had ripped through his mental shields and hard won controls like adamantine claws. He saw Logan's head snap up in the reflection on the glass pane, saw his eyes widen and his nostrils flare. For a second his reflection had seemed to blur into something else or someone else, then he had practically leaped from his seat and ran into the bathroom. 

Even now, alone in the room, he felt desire like a low humming in his blood. He needed love like an addict needs his fix. If were home or in a larger city, he would find someone at the first bar or club he found. He would feed on their desire, take the affection he needed, then leave them when he had what he needed, no strings, no complications. Sometimes, he did not even ask their names. 

He had the power to make Logan want him, make him take him, but he could not. He cared too much about his friend, his partner, his teammate. He could not hurt either of them that way. He was torn between anger, and self-hatred and the burning need that had shaped so much of his life. He lay back and forced his breathing into a steadier pace. He relaxed tightened muscles and tried to ignore everything but the steady drumming of rain outside the window. 

He watched the light bobbing and blurring in the rain for some time before he realized that it was moving and not the reflection of the bedside lamp. He jumped to the window and peered through the sleeting water trying to make out what it was. A lantern, that must be what it was. He snagged his trench coat and slipped out into the rain to investigate. 

He was soaked through in seconds and almost turned around right there, but the thought of facing Wolverine and his inevitable questions seemed more uncomfortable at the moment than the wet and cold. He gritted his teeth and edged around the motel's far side. The light appeared just ahead of him. 

Years of training as a thief kept his passage silent, even in the mud and forest litter. He crept closer to the swinging light and crouched close to the ground when it stopped suddenly and disappeared into a dark structure. He edged up to the building when he was sure the light was not returning. It was a low squat building with four coarse walls made of rough hewn logs. He found a low dirty window on one side and cleared enough dirt away to see inside. 

The beam of light darted around aimlessly on the floor, it had been covered with a red filter of some kind. He saw the person holding the beam crouch down and make a series of gestures over the floor. A sudden flash of light painted the whole night in neon blue and he saw figure inside the building clearly. Her face was covered with a long white veil. She was wearing a white dress, one that was dirty and torn. Instinctively he ducked just as she looked up. A loud crash of thunder reverberated through the night. 

Gambit ran as fast as silence would allow back to the motel and cursed as he realized he had forgotten to grab his key. He was just going to knock when the door was flung open in his face. 

Logan took one look at the soaked Cajun and pulled him into the room, stripping off his wet clothes as he moved. Gambit found himself wrapped in towels as Wolverine berated him for being out in the storm. Through chattering teeth he reported what he had seen. When he was done he waited for Logan's response. 

Wolverine looked at the Cajun thoughtfully. "We need to check out that building, but not 'til morning. Meanwhile, don't be running off alone like that, what if..." He trailed off, what if what? What if Gambit got attacked by another dream, what if he walked out in the woods and was teleported somewhere else, what if a ghost or ghosts were out there in the woods... "I'm losing my fucking mind." 

"You and Gambit both." 

Logan started, he had not meant to speak aloud. He frowned and decided to come clean. He told Gambit what had happened that morning and about the disappearing liquid that had led him to the journal in the archives. When he finished, Gambit was almost as pale as the towels around him. 

"Merde, what is happening here?" 

"I don't know, but that ain't all. I almost went feral on you. I almost lost control. I could have hurt you." Instead of the frightened look, Logan had expected, Gambit looked relieved. 

"Gambit t'ought it jus' him, same t'ing happen t'Gambit 'bout d'time you ran for d'shower." 

Wolverine stared at Gambit. The kid had been really shaken up judging by the thickening accent and increased use of third person. He was also hiding something. He wondered if the kid knew how much those that knew him could read from his voice. 

"I didn't hear anything blow up." 

"Wasn't that power." 

"Your empathy?" 

"Oui." 

"You're hiding something, Gumbo. Spill it. We're in over our heads right now, it's no time to be keeping secrets. It won't ever go past here. I promise." 

Gambit met Logan's eyes knowing that the other mutant would see the fear there, smell it on him. No one knew about the charm power. No one knew what it could do. Still, Wolverine was right, if something out there could reach into their minds and play with their powers... He shivered at the implications. 

"Gambit's other power isn't exactly empathy. He just tell de others dat to keep them outta his head. D'other power, it came to me first, before de charging, when Remy was just hitting puberty. I call it charm power..." 

Hesitantly he told Logan about his ability to make people want him, about how long it had taken him to gain control over the power. He also told him about how dangerous it was. He left out the terrible stories of what had happened when the power had escaped his control, but he could see from the sympathy in Logan's blue eyes that he could figure out what it had been like. 

That sympathy brought the need surging to the surface again with incredible force, he wanted to move the few steps to the chair and melt into Logan's arms, he wanted to feel the heat of his body warming him up, taste the salt of his skin. He gasped and fought hard to squelch the thought realizing Wolverine had probably seen and smelled the wave of desire. 

"It's a two way street, ain't it, kid? It works on you too, even when you're not using it on other people." 

Gambit blushed. "Yeah, Remy feels like a whore sometimes." 

"Y'aint a whore, Remy. You can't help responding to your power anymore than Storm can keep from stirring up thunder and lightning when she's mad, or I can keep from using my enhanced senses. It's part of you." 

Remy relaxed marginally. If Wolverine thought badly of him after finding out the truth, he would have said so. He really was okay with it. 

"Funny thing though," Logan looked at him his brow creasing thoughtfully "I could smell the pheromones when the power acted up just now. You smelled different before." 

"Different?" 

"I looked up and all of a sudden, all my senses locked in on you, I could smell you, taste you almost, I could hear your heart beating, the blood flowing in your veins. You smelled like you did just then at first, then for a second your scent changed. I recognized the other scent and it almost pushed me over the edge. I almost went for you before I caught myself." 

"Gambit smelled like an enemy?" 

"Not an enemy, a mate, a long time mate." 

"We need to get out of here, Logan, before we lose more than our minds, before we lose ourselves." 

"I know, kid. But we've got to check out this cottage tomorrow, we promised Chuck. Maybe you should go back to the mansion while I stay and check it out some more." 

"Non, you ain't staying here alone, You stay, Gambit stays. We're a team." 

Wolverine sighed and nodded reluctantly, he had expected no less of his partner. He would not have been persuaded to leave either. He knew they would stay to see this thing through even if they were both in danger. They were X-Men. That meant something to both of them.

"Let's hit the hay, kid. Maybe we'll get some answers in the morning."


	7. Unexpected Allies

Finding the cottage turned out to be harder than they had expected. The fields of sheep and cattle were long gone. Left unattended, the fields had fallen victim to the encroaching forest. The Western Woods had reclaimed the whole area. It was well into evening before the X-Men were able to match up landmarks and home in on the ruins. 

The remains of the archer cottage seemed to consist of an abandoned fireplace and a few rotten timbers. A massive twisted tree had grown up through and around it until it looked as if the fireplace was set into the tree itself. The massive roots swept around in front of the hearth like grasping arms ready to pull the unwary into the dark mouth of the fireplace. 

Something about the tree gave Wolverine the creeps. It looked dead, but it did not feel dead. It felt like the thing was watching. He could almost hear the sluggish pulse of fluids though the xylem and phloem of the trunk, a slow heavy rhythm like the beat of an ancient heart. He shivered, scenting the wind. There was no specific scent of danger, but the whole place felt bad. Every animal instinct in his body screamed at him to run from this place. 

There were no other plants or trees within fifty feet of the giant. Not even grass. He knew that some trees, like oaks, actually poisoned the ground around their roots, but they usually only killed other trees, not everything. There were no animals either, he realized, no birds, no crickets, everything was silent. 

Gambit walked up to the fireplace between the roots. Wolverine had to resist the urge to grab him and snatch him back from danger. Instead, he walked up behind the Cajun who had knelt at the fireplace. 

"Whatcha see, Gumbo?" 

"There's the archer in the fire back. This is the place." 

"Yeah, and unless I miss my guess, this must be the Tree of the Dead." 

Gambit looked up through the tortured branches. "Gambit think you be right on that one, Wolvie." 

They examined the ground and fireplace carefully. There was no sign that anything had been disturbed in years, no scent or track of any other living thing near the area. They tugged at the remaining timbers and the few remaining pieces of hearthstone, but nothing was loose, nothing hidden. 

Gambit stood up and stretched, wiping the dirt from his hands. It was growing dark fast. Night was falling and the sky was clouding up again. He looked out to the edge of the clearing and frowned. A thick mist was moving along the ground. It ebbed and flowed creeping around the smaller trees and pushing toward them with an eerily purposeful directness. 

"Um...Logan, You're the nature lover here...is that normal." He pointed at the mist. 

Wolverine looked at the mysterious mist and inhaled. It smelled like normal ground vapor, but there was something else wrong, not just with the mist. He turned slowly pushing away conscious thought and let his animal senses assimilate every detail. 

Silence, like the whole forest held its breath...distant vibration, thunder... a storm approaching...smell of mist...corruption...old death...fear like a palpable taste in the air...blood...the tree smelled of blood...vibrations growing stronger coming from the tree not the sky...the approach of something...danger... 

Gambit saw Wolverine's eyes flash yellow then he spun to face the tree growling low in his throat and unsheathing his adamantine claws. A crash of thunder only partially covered the strange vibration coming from the old fireplace. The fireplace was glowing a terrible, baleful red and seemed to flicker from within, as if somewhere deep in the tree flames danced. 

The roots wrapped around the fireplace stretched like a nest of mindless serpents, reaching out opening a path. There was a horrible moment of silence as if the entire forest drew a long breath then a thundering that might have been the storm or the tearing of something never meant to be parted, and something was bursting up out of the fireplace. 

It was a horse, a tall, black horse with baleful red eyes, and on its back, two riders, the two from his dream. The horse reared screaming, and his master turned him in a tight circle before reining him in. 

The smaller figure scrambled off the war horse and approached the X-men cautiously. He raised his hands showing that they were empty. The more frightening figure, it had to be the Horseman, sat very still, keeping a hard hold on the restless animal, trying not to frighten them, Gambit realized. 

"Who're you, Bub, and what do you want?" 

"I am Ichabod Crane, formerly a constable from New York sent to Sleepy Hollow on assignment." 

"And what are you now, a ghost?" 

"Not exactly. That is rather a difficult thing to explain. I never technically died." 

"What about him?" Wolverine gestured toward the silent figure on horseback with a bared claw. 

"He is indeed a ghost, but we mean you no harm. Please let me explain a few things about Sleepy Hollow and what is going on here." 

Logan grunted and put away his claws. "Have at it." 

Ichabod cleared his throat nervously. The Horseman swung down from his mount and moved to his side dropping a gloved hand on the young man's shoulder. Ichabod smiled up at him gratefully and Gambit was sure that he had been right. They loved each other. He could not help smiling. The young man did not notice his expression, but his dark lover did. The soldier smiled at him, no more than a quick quirk of the mouth, a raised brow, and a sparkle of the eye. Gambit felt a rush of warmth in spite of the cool mist that was swirling around him and the wind that swiftly picking up into a real gale. 

"We have precious little time, so I will make this as brief as I can. I am sure that by now you have realized that Sleepy Hollow is a haunted place. There are many spirits here and most are harmless. Those that are not are cowed by the stronger spirit of the Horseman and do not cause trouble. The creature you saw last night was a ghost called forth by an evil but very human foe." A loud crash of thunder drowned out Ichabod's earnest voice for a moment and he looked around nervously. 

The Horseman spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, "The storm is hers, she comes. You should hurry." 

Ichabod spoke hastily telling them that the Lady Van Tassell had gone away, supposedly to comfort a dying sister, not long after she and Baltus had married. She had gone to Denmark and stayed there nearly a year. Ten years after her death a young woman had come to the Hollow, to the Steenwyck family, claiming to be the illegitimate child of the Reverend Steenwyke. She looked enough like him that there was little doubt in the minds of the villager. She was taken into the family and raised as their own. As she grew older, her resemblance to the late lady Van Tassell also became apparent. 

She was old now, but very powerful. She controlled magical forces that most people did not believe in anymore. She had plotted in secret for most her life and now she was executing her plan. She intended to destroy the people she held responsible for her mother's death and in the process gain control of the vast, evil power that slept in the Western Woods. She had somehow gained power over Lady Van Tassel's sister, the Witch of the Western Woods and bound her spirit. What Steenwyke had not counted on was that the twins were linked more deeply in death than they had been in life. Raising the crone's body had also awakened the demonic beast that had been Lady van Tassell and pulled her forth from the flames of Hell into the land of the living. Steenwyke might be able to control the restless spirit she had called up, but the greater evil was uncontrollable. She had nearly destroyed the Horseman the last time she had appeared. 

Ichabod explained how he and the Hessian had controlled the demon before, but said that she was far more powerful now. She was feeding somehow on the power of her sister, and the power of Steenwyke. She was mad, utterly ruthless. She wanted to kill everyone, everything, within her grasp. 

"How do you think we can stop her, if you can't?" Wolverine demanded. 

"You cannot stop her, we must do that. What you must do is find Steenwyke and break her spells that bind the crone to her. Cut off the source of the power that feeds her and it will weaken her sister. She must have some token of the Crone's, a bone, a lock of hair, an object...something that was part of her in life." 

Wolverine locked eyes with Gambit, he saw that they were in accord on the matter. He turned back to the two. "We'll help, but we need to know two things. First of all, who's messing with our heads and our powers? Second, where is Dr. Marcus?" 

Ichabod pondered the questions a moment. "I think that it is the Hollow itself playing with your minds. It is a living breathing thing, haunted long before either of us came to be here. It has a way of reaching out to the living. It touches you when you are most vulnerable. I think it may have drawn both of you into our minds once or twice." Ichabod actually blushed, drawing a strangely tender smile from the Hessian. "It seems to happen when our emotional states are similar to your own. The danger is that when your mind...spirit...whatever noncorporeal element of you it is...leaves your own sphere of consciousness any of the preternatural forces in Hollow can see it, affect it." 

"You're saying we can get hurt, even if we think we're dreaming, like Gambit's ankle." 

"Yes, you can get hurt, or even worse. You could get lost and never find your way back to your body. It would die without your soul and your consciousness would remain here in the Western Woods forever." 

Gambit shivered at that. 

"As to your second question, I do not know what happened to your Dr. Marcus. He has not been here in the forest. I fear if he came to the Hollow to resurrect the tale of the Headless Horseman, he may have followed his questions to Steenwyke and fallen victim to foul play. I cannot be sure of that possibility, though, without hard evidence." 

"Fair enough. So where do we look for this Steenwyke and her ghost." 

"The building that I followed the light too, last night. The woman I saw was wearing a white dress and veil, like a wedding dress." 

"That would seem to match the Crone's description," Ichabod confirmed. 

Gambit frowned. "But why would a ghost need a flashlight?" 

"She wouldn't need it to see by, but a human might use it as some sort of signal. That might explain the red filter." 

Ichabod nodded at Wolverine, "You may be correct. In addition, if the Crone was looking down at the ground, she may have been drawn by a rune of some sort or an object of magic power such as the one that would bind her to this world." 

"Where's that Crone supposed to be buried, Bub?" 

Ichabod blushed at the question. "She is in the churchyard, in the grave that bears my very own name. Her clothes and personal effects were left in the cave she dwelled in during her life. The cave is deep in the heart of the forest, long lost to time and nature." 

"Okay, we got ourselves a plan then. Tomorrow Gambit and I'll check out the building he saw. If that doesn't pan out, we'll check out the churchyard and see if anybody's been doing any grave robbing lately. Then we'll take care of Steenwyke while you two handle this demon critter. Sounds simple enough." 

Ichabod sighed, "Nothing has ever been 'simple' when it comes to Sleepy Hollow." 

As if in response to his remark, a bolt of lightning split the sky and the heavens opened up soaking them all to the skin in seconds. Thunder crashed somewhere overhead startling the forest into silence. Daredevil reared screaming and pawing the air in defiance. Ichabod jumped and grew even paler. 

Gambit looked across at Wolverine and saw his eyes gleaming yellow as his claws slid out. He started to say something when the Hessian moved toward him and picked him up as if he weighed nothing then tossed him unceremoniously onto the demon horse's back. A second later, Ichabod was mounted behind him in the same efficient way. Ichabod started to say something, but never had the chance as Daredevil bolted away in response to some silent command from his master. 

Both men clung to the saddle horn as the ghost stallion leaped over any object that did not move from his path fast enough. Over the thunder of hoof beats and the roar of the storm, they could hear other sounds like laughing and the yapping of hounds or the crying of children. The sounds seem to be pursuing them, coming closer and closer in spite of their breakneck speed. Just as it seemed as if the horrible noises would catch up to them, Daredevil gathered himself and flung himself forward over a white picket fence onto a paved parking lot. The horse faltered and stumbled to a halt. 

They were in a church parking lot, Gambit saw. The horse had brought him here and now it appeared to be in distress. Wisps of smoke rose from its hide and its hoofs and it appeared to be confused. Ichabod caught its halter and turned it back the way they had come. The noises were retreating now, apparently frustrated by the holy ground. 

"Go, go back to him, Daredevil. We're fine. Go now." The Demon cried out once more, then obeyed, leaping over the fence and pounding away into the night. 

"They gonna be alright, Ichabod?" 

"She is no match for Christiaan alone and your friend looks as if he could handle any of her lesser minions." 

"Doesn't stop you from worrying, though, non?" 

"Nothing stops me from worrying, I fear." 

"This the churchyard where the Crone was buried?" 

"I think so. It has changed a lot since my time, like everything else." 

"Let's you and Gambit have a look see while we're here, hmm?" 

"That would seem to be an acceptable plan." 

They found the grave without too much trouble. It was in a neat row along the fence nearest the river. Ichabod traced his own name on the stone marker with a visible shiver. Next to his grave was one marked simply "the Unknown Hessian Horseman". It actually held Reverend Steenwyke's body Ichabod explained. They brushed away the leaves that had covered the ground on both of the plots but found only withered grass beneath them. No one had disturbed either grave in years. 

"That just leaves the cave. She has found the cave somehow." 

They waited until the storm died away beneath the arched doorway of the church talking about the events at hand and about their respective pasts. Gambit could not believe how easy it was to open up to Ichabod, to tell him about his powers, his feelings, it was as if he had known him for years. For his part, Ichabod had not realized how hungry he was for contact from the world outside. Gambit filled him in on much of the history of the world since he had chosen his course in life. He found himself amazed at the scientific and crime fighting advances over the past few decades. He felt justified to learn that his methods for detecting the guilty were now standard procedure almost worldwide. He also insisted that Gambit give him a demonstration of his mutant powers. He watched a small stone charge and explode with intense curiosity and gathered the ashy fragments afterward for later study. 

The two were discussing their relationships when they heard hoof beats headed toward the church. The storm had stopped without their even noticing it. They were laughing as they reached the gate and their worried partners on the other side. They related their findings or lack there of at the grave site. Apparently the two of them had been the witch's target, as soon as they were both safely on holy ground the storm had begun to die and her influence with it. Wolverine and the Hessian had experienced nothing worse than a good drenching and some tossed tree limbs. 

The odd quartet walked back to the motel. Just before they parted, Ichabod embraced Remy and stood on tip toes to whisper in his ear. "Tell him how you feel. Sometimes, today is all there is." Then he stepped back and accepted his lover's hand up onto Daredevil's broad back. The Hessian swung up behind him and with a nod spurred his demon mount into the forest without a sound. 

"What was that all about?" Wolverine looked at him curiously as he stripped out of his wet clothes. 

"Nothing, Gambit and Ichabod had a long talk about a lot of things. You talk to the Horseman? What's he like?" 

"Tell ya what, Gumbo, let me get into some dry clothes and make a pot of coffee and we'll compare notes." 

"Make it hot chocolate and you got a deal."


	8. Haunted Love

Logan sipped at the cocoa thoughtfully glancing up at Gambit from time to time. The kid seemed much more at ease than he had before. He caught Wolverine's eyes on him and smiled ruefully back at the Canadian. 

"Look like crap, do I." 

"Nah, you never look like crap. I was just thinking that you looked more like yourself since you talked to Crane." 

Remy's eyes widened slightly. He wondered if Logan was actually aware that he had just complimented him albeit in a rather roundabout manner. "Crane's alright, a little strange but what do you expect from someone who's neither alive or dead. I do feel better now that I know a little more about what's going on here. Ghosts I can handle, the unknown freaks me out." 

Gambit thought about Ichabod's parting words. Without planning anything out, he locked his charm power down behind the strongest shields he could create then rose setting his mug aside on the nightstand. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and he felt as though he were moving through a surrealistic world made of mist and darkness. He stopped directly in front of Logan who was sitting on the edge of his bed looking up at Gambit in surprise. 

Logan started when Gambit rose smoothly and silently from his position on the other bed and walked up to him. He looked up the long, lean expanse of the Cajun's body, naked except for a silky green bathrobe. He was going to speak when Gambit dropped to his knees on the floor in front him. Red on black eyes seemed to pin him in place. 

"Hold me." 

"What?" 

"Hold me Logan, please." 

He felt as if he were moving in slow motion as he caught the slender young man and pulled him roughly into his arms. "Remy, I don't think we should..." 

His doubts were silenced by hungry lips on his own. He forgot everything he had meant to say as the bathrobe slipped away somehow and he found himself with his arms full of warm, golden skin, as agile hands moved beneath his own clothes with practiced skill, as strong, supple lips commanded his own. 

Far beneath the roots of an ancient and evil tree, a pale dark haired boy flung himself into his warrior's strong arms. His mouth sought the cooler lips of his dead lover. Startled by Ichabod's sudden aggression the Hessian allowed himself to be pushed back onto the bed they shared. 

The hotel bed creaked as Gambit pushed an unresisting Wolverine back onto the bed. His mouth moved hungrily over the body beneath him. He took in everything, the coarse texture of the hair, The heavy, sculpted muscles, the skin tanned dark by wind and sun. 

Ichabod raised his head from his exploration of the pale skin beneath his hands and mouth. His eyes almost seemed to glow in the candle light. Locking eyes with his beloved he took his straining sex into his mouth and slowly went down on it, swallowing the entire length. 

Logan groaned as he stared into the glowing red on black eyes that held him as Gambit moved up and down his shaft in a steady rhythm that seemed to merge with the sound of rain and the thundering of his heart. He tangled his hands in the auburn mass of the Cajun's's hair and cried out softly. 

Desire became to much for the Hessian he sat up pulling his lover into his lap and positioning himself at the entrance to his body. Ichabod seized his lips and sank down on the hard shaft crying out in pleasure and pain. 

Logan froze as he heard the pained edge in Remy's voice as he impaled himself on Logan's manhood, but then the younger man moaned, a low throaty sound of pure pleasure that heated the older man's blood more quickly than the smell of prey. He growled as he held his lover. Gambit wrapped his arms around his neck and rode him in a wild uncontrolled rhythm. 

A cool hand slipped between their bodies gripping Ichabod's own sex firmly and stroking it. It wasn't long before the dark haired boy cried out into Christiaan's mouth and spilled his seed on the warrior's stomach and chest. He followed only moments later crying out and thrusting up into the slender body once last time as he reached his own climax. 

Logan was slick with sweat as he lowered the trembling Cajun to the bed beside him carefully disengaging from his body. They were both totally spent and he for one was pleasantly sated as well. Apparently he was not the only one because Remy all but purred as he wrapped his arms around Logan's neck and snuggled close to him. His belly was still covered in Gambit's seed but at the moment he didn't care about much of anything. "Mein Liebling," he whispered as he held the lithe body close and slipped of into sleep. 

Ichabod snuggled sleepily against Christiaan's broad chest and whispered, "Je'taime," as sleep claimed him. 

Outside a rather strange hotel room and a gnarled and tortured tree, the wind howled up and down Sleepy Hollow wailing in unconstrained fury. Lightning painted the sky in violence and the thunder roared through the driving rain. A lone figure dressed in white lace stood a lonely vigil in the darkness. She held her vacant eyes fixed on the trail and waited for something, trapped somewhere between heaven and hell, life and death.


	9. Evil Unveiled

The next morning dawned sullenly, the sky was grey and overcast and a thick fog blew between the trees obscuring the ground before the two mutants. Gambit stayed close enough to Wolverine to feel the heat of his body, but not close enough to actually touch him. They had made love then fallen asleep, woke up sometime in the wee hours of the morning and made love, woke up starving at dawn and made love, staggered into the shower together and made love. Their mutant physiology made both of them voracious and their enhanced stamina made them up for it, as often as they liked. They had decided that it might be better if they refrained from touching as much as possible in the interest of accomplishing anything. 

They discovered the small fallen structure. It was dark and ominous in the gloom. Wolverine didn't hesitate but threw the creaking door open stepping down into the structure. Neither he or Gambit had any need for lights with their enhanced eyesight. The room was square and barren. The plank floor had been swept clean and an indecipherable rune scrawled over it. The placed reeked of blood and grave dirt. 

He told Gambit what he smelled and saw the taller man nod his expression turning grim. With a thief's sharp eyes and instincts he examined the place finally kneeling beside the rune and pressing on the swirls and letters in what appeared to be an almost random fashion to Logan. After a few minutes, he was about to ask what his partner thought he was doing when a loud click cut him off and a circular piece of the floor lifted out in Gambit's hands revealing a dark tunnel leading underground. 

"Way to go, Gumbo." 

"When you're good, you're good." He made an elegant 'after you' gesture and followed Logan down a rickety ladder into a small natural looking tunnel that finally widened out into a cave. "I think Gambit and Wolverine find the cave, non?" He looked around at the horror movie trappings and whistled. 

Wolverine examined the floor, there was one set of footprints in the dust. They were small feet, feminine, and the person who made them was no ghost. One of the prints had landed in soft, dry clay and he could clearly read the ornate Prada and a number five in a circle. 

"Our killer has expensive tastes," Gambit remarked. 

Wolverine snorted and began to search the place. He finally found what he was looking for. One item in all the mess that had been disturbed, an ornate box. He flipped it open and saw an empty velvet liner with the shape of a slender dagger pressed into it. "Our object is a dagger or knife." 

"What now? Do we go con..."

Gambit was cut off as the fire roared to life. A huge pot hung over the fire began to boil noisily allowing the putrid smelling contents to steam over the sides and fall into the fire with a hissing sound. In the steam a figure took form. 

It was a face the grayish, purple color of a bruise on dead flesh. The flesh was split and flaking and pitted. Where the eyes should be were empty black holes, not empty though for something seemed to move in the darkness of the sockets. The hair that hung in lank, filthy locks from it's almost feminine face were grey and coarse. 

"What the fuck are you?" Logan demanded. 

The lips did not move but a reply seemed to echo back from every side in a low voice half growl, half hiss, "the other...I am the other...I hear the witch come...from the village...I smell the blood and the grave stench... she calls and the seer must come...from the grave... from the Hollow...the blooded blade binds her...and the beast clings to the lines of blood... the beast of hate... the beast of vengeance... born of murder... tried in the fires of Hell... she comes to ravage...comes to kill... break the bond and free the seer...let the Horseman ride...let the Hollow sleep..." 

The lipless mouth opened and there and there was another flicker of movement and suddenly three gape mouthed snakes lunged toeward them from the empty holes. Wolverine and Gambit both jumped back in spite of their experience with uncanny things, then the other, whatever it was, was gone, the pot still, the fire dark as if it had never flared up. 

"Gambit thinks we should be going now, eh Logan?" 

"I think yer right, Cajun." 

The dismal day seemed significantly brighter and the air infinitely fresher as they stepped out of the structure. The forest was silent as if it watched them, waiting to see if they would succeed in restoring its balance. The Horseman was a harsh master, but a fair one. The beast was chaos embodied and could bring nothing but disruption and destruction. The two mutants were very aware of the weight of eyeless stares upon them as they made their way back to the hotel.

 

Their next stop was the Steenwyke house to visit the witch wannabe herself. They had identified her as Tamarah Steenwyke and found her address by the simple expedient of asking the elderly man at the post office. He had even offered to walk them over but they had declined.

Gambit peered in the windows of the neat Tudor. "I don't see anything, no alarm sytem, no traps, no WAS like in dat cave." 

"WAS?" 

"Weird Ass Shit." 

"You've been running around with Jubes way too much lately." 

Gambit chuckled and jimmied the door expertly. 

The house was perfectly normal as far as they could see, but then something caught Gambit's eye. He explored a narrow floor to ceiling bookcase and was not surprised when it swung open with a soft click. Logan peered over his shoulder into a dark stairwell. 

"Nothin' is what it seems around here, eh Gumbo?" 

"To this day the Western Woods are a haunted place where brave men dare not tread," he quoted a line from the movie. 

Wolverine snorted inelegantly, "far as this old man is concerned, the ghost can have Sleepy Hollow, I'll be more than happy to blow this joint when we're done." 

"Maybe Logan and Remy run down to Nawlins for Mardis Gras." 

"Mardi Gras isn't until February, Cajun." 

"What's your point, mon ami?" 

"This is August." 

"Oui, we'll beat the tourist crowds." 

"Yeah, that will go over big with Chuck." 

"He owes us for taking this one." 

"Ya got a point there." 

They fell silent as the stairs began to widen and curve towards a landing. Beyond the landing a glimmer of light showed beneath a stout door. Wolverine led the way opening the door quietly and peering into the candlelit room beyond. 

The room was something from a psychiatrists worst nightmare, gruesome pictures and newspaper clippings and photos were tacked to the red painted walls. Brownish black stains streaked the gray marble floor leading to a recessed drain in the floor. Pentagrams and other sigils were drawn all over the floor in chalk, everywhere were holders of black and red candles with flames of odd colors that burned steadily in spite of the breeze blowing in their faces. The room reeked of blood and at least some of it was human. 

Wolverine crept forward into the breeze every since alert and Gambit hot on his heels. He found himself at another doorway that had a stone floor and slanted upwards, the breeze was coming from there. The long slope ended at an open trapdoor. He stepped up over the sill onto the remnants of a paving stone floor. He was in another set of overgrown ruins. These bore signs of an intense fire hot enough to sear the stones. The scorched remains of some sort of giant wheels or pulleys littered the area but vines were rapidly reclaiming the entire area. 

They tracked Steenwyke from the ruins to a path winding through the forest. The sun was beginning to set casting long shadows across the trail in front of them. The woods were ominously silent. At last they reached a large circular clearing. The blackened stump of a tree was in the center and candles burned around that. An older woman knelt with her back to them. She raised a frail hand with a slender dagger clasped in it chanting as she did so. 

Wolverine and Gambit shared a look and advanced quietly. 

Gambit circled to the left at a gesture from Wolverine while the Canadian circled right. Just before they drew even with Steenwyck she plunged the dagger into her own hand and cackled madly. 

"You can't stop me, no one can stop me." Her blood sizzled as it dropped onto the stump and it shuddered violently. The form of the lady in white rose from the stump. Her dirty veil covered her face and she stood silently unmoving and unbreathing. 

"Kill them," Steenwyck ordered. 

The figure stepped forward gliding down from the stump. A slender finger appeared extending from the ragged white sleeve. It pointed at Logan then rose to her covered neck drawing a line across her own throat in a gesture that looked to the x-man to be more than a threat, more like a message. 

His mind raced, a cut throat, a decapitation, the Horseman. She was telling him that they needed the Horseman. She could feel her sister's approach and she was warning them. She was just a tool, used by Steenwyke and the sister that had murdered her. He felt an irrational surge of rage. Bad enough to be dead, but to have to come back and dance at the end of a puppetmaster's strings... "I'll set you free. Just hold on, miss." 

The ghost lunged for him wrapping icy hands around his throat. He struggled with her, but she was only marginally solid so it was like wrestling with a thick fog. He saw gambit closing in to help him and made a quick stabbing motion. 'The dagger, Remy, get the dagger while I keep her occupied, Darling'. 

He did not dare speak the words aloud, but he saw Gambit's eyes spark with understanding and the Cajun feinted to the other side as if he meant to pull the ghost off his partner. 

Steenwyke cackled again and watched the fight not noticing the way the wind was picking up or the strange black and green clouds that were rapidly obscuring the sky, storm clouds dark and ugly as a bruise, and behind them dark things that seemed to move and writhe just out of sight. 

Gambit lunged toward Logan and the Crone but at the last moment telescoped his bo-stick and used it to execute an impressive backflip that brought him foot to face with the elderly witch. A sharp kick knocked her onto her back and another sent the dagger flying. He lunged after it only to feel her grab him with surprising strength around the waist. He had a longer reach though. 

He managed to get his fingers around the hilt of the dagger just as the thing from his nightmare exploded from the stump, a seething cloud of blackness armed with claws and dagger like teeth and dozens of red glowing eyes like every nightmare monster come to life. 

The wind struck him full in the chest flinging him like a discarded rag doll across the clearing. He slammed into a tree with incredible force and the air was driven from his lungs. Blackness tinted the edge of his vision and he might have blacked out but a deep rough voice with a heavy German accent spoke inside his head. 

"Nein! Stay awake, little one, use the dagger. Set the seer free, sever the ties. Quickly now! The light fades, we come!" 

He struggled to his hands and knees and saw in the distance the uncanny mist beginning to rise. He had never been so glad to see a weird fog in his life. He almost laughed at the oddity of such a thought, but there was no time for humour now. He scrambled up and moved to Logan's side. The crone had stepped back and turned to face Steenwyke and her demonic sister. 

"The Horseman say we need to sever the ties with this dagger, Wolvie, you know how?" 

"No clue, I ain't into magic." 

The crone turned toward them only to be halted by her former master. 

"No! Kill them! I command you! Kill them!" Steenwyke screamed at the crone then turned to the greater demon. By the power of my blood, I command you! Kill them!" 

The thing that had once been the Lady Van Tassell laughed, the sound like that of a thousand maniacal children screeching discordantly. She picked her daughter up and shook her. Old and brittle bones snapped like broken twigs. Then the demon's body seemed to turn into a roiling miasma of blackness. The substance crept along the old witch, crawling over her skin and drawing her into the demon's body. She screamed in agony as she disappeared her terrified face the last think to melt into the oily black mess. 

"She consumed her, she has her power too now, Remy." Wolverine grabbed his arm pulling him back as the entity advanced. The storm's intensity grew threefold, the wind flattening trees to the ground and the thunder became a continuous roar. 

The weaker ghost stood her ground in front of them watching her sister. Gambit squinted suddenly seeing something he had not before. Thread like strands of dark energy reaching from the Crone to the demon. "That's it, sever the ties, he said!" 

He lunged and brought the dagger down cutting through those bizarre tendrils. They resisted being cut rolling and slipping like tendons before a scalpel. Then he had them and they parted with a sound like rubber bands snapping. One, two, three, one more to go. He was sawing at it, it seemed tougher than the others. At last he had it. He made a small sound of triumph, then icy cold hands seized his shoulders and literally threw him at Logan. Wolverine caught him awkwardly and set him on his feet just in time to see the demonic force attack, sweeping over the area where he had been before the spirit he had freed had tossed him out of the way. 

The Crone raised her veil and smiled at what had been her sister. She ignored Wolverine when he screamed at her to run. Seconds before the thing reached her it was struck from the side by a great black warhorse and driven away from the lady in white with enough force to rip the branches from the surrounding trees.

Ichabod appeared from the woods and took the Crone's arm respectfully leading her from the battle to the safest place he could see with his vast experience in hiding from danger. Once they were both nicely ensconced behind Wolverine's broad back he breathed a sigh of relief. 

"I'll help the Horseman, " Wolverine growled. 

Gambit stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Dis is his fight, nothing you can do now, mon amour." 

"He's right. Trust Christiaan. He's the best." Ichabod added.

Wolverine snorted, but took up a defensive position where he could protect the three of them. It occurred to him just how weird it was that he wanted to protect a ghost and an undead stranger and a fellow X-Man who could take care of himself just fine. 

Then he twitched, "Christiaan? His name is Christiaan?"

"Yes, it's a nice name." Ichabod answered a bit defensively. "Why?"

"I guess I just expected something a bit more... unusual." 

Ichabod smiled, "it is a little bit ironic." 

The Hessian fought with all his strength and skill, his ax and sword danced with hellfire as he struck the creature again and again. Daredevil's hooves threw up showers of sparks and the smell of brimstone and burning blood choked the air. Lightning flickered in and out making their movements seem jerky almost like a strobe light.

Wolverine pulled Ichabod and Gambit further behind him as a tree exploded from a direct strike to his left. The trunk fell and one large limb struck the edge of the stump knocking off a large section of rotten wood. A body tumbled out of the stump and rolled down the incline the head coming to rest inches from Ichabod's feet. 

He made a most undignified squeaking sound and jumped back from it. Gambit patted his back reassuringly then knelt and felt for a pulse not surprised to find there wasn't one. He rolled the body over and examined the face. Even had it not matched the description of Dr. Marcus, the large journal clasped to his chest would have given his identity away. Even in death he gripped his research with all his might. 

"Marcus?" Wolverine asked. Gambit's nod was all the answer he needed. He was just about to suggest they search for safer ground when the Horseman backed the demonic force into the clearing driving it to the stump. 

A baleful red light poured from it seeming to hold her. She struggled wildly and almost made it out when the Crone lunged at her sister tackling her and forcing her back. The horseman's axe chose that moment to sprout from between the demon's eyes. Bolts of scarlet hellfire crackled out from the axe causing the demon to scream in pain. For just a moment the face of the first Lady Steenwyke appeared, handsome and competent and mad, then another that bore the stamp of the same bloodline, young again and just as insane. At last, the horrific light faded and both spirits were drawn into the stump with wet sucking sounds. 

Daredevil pranced across the clearing dropping his muzzle to snuffle at Ichabod's hair causing him to smile and rub the big stallion's nose. A gloved hand reached down and he took it trustingly allowing himself to be pulled up into the ornate saddle. His lover was warm and solid and strong against his back and he tipped his head back to gaze up at the foreboding profile. 

"Will she stay gone this time, Christiaan?"

"Her hate is strong."

"Well if she comes back, we'll just stop her again."

The Hessian lowered his head and leaned forward catching Ichabod's lips in a deep fierce kiss that left a blush painted across his pale cheeks. 

"The storm is breaking up, Leibling. We must go before sunlight finds us."

Ichabod nodded and wished the x-men a heartfelt thanks and goodbye, then they were away on Daredevil who raced the dawn for their safe lair. 

Wolverine dug in his pocket for his communicator. It had not worked since they set foot in the hollow but for once it had a signal. He was brief telling the professor only that they had found Marcus and the killer had been dealt with. The details would wait until he and Gambit discussed just how much they wanted to reveal.


	10. Aftermath

Logan looked out the hotel window at the dark spill of the forest behind them. It would be dusk soon and with the darkness the spirits of Sleepy Hollow would begin to stir. It was haunted like no place he had ever been before. If he had doubted such things before, well as they said around here with hushed voices, seeing is believing. He caught Gambit's scent as his partner and now his lover moved up behind him and stopped just short of touching him. 

"Mrs. Marcus gave his notes to your friend at the front desk, apparently she's a writer too and plans to finish his book."

"That's a good thing then, maybe we ought to give her Ichabod's diary too or else take it back to their resting place."

"It's gone. I looked all over the room for it, but it disappeared. I guess Ichabod wanted it back."

"Well, forgive me if I ain't too surprised."

Gambit laughed softly, "I might miss this place when we go... nah."

Logan laughed himself. "I know what ya mean there, Gumbo."

"So... When we do go... what happened between us..." Gambit faltered as he searched for a way to approach what he wanted to ask."

"I love you, Remy. I did before we got here." Logan had never been any good at subtlety or tact so he just said it out plain. "I want us to be together after we go home, but I want to know what you want, honestly want."

"I want you, Logan. I love you too. I don't want to hide it. I ain't ashamed for everyone t'know."

He smiled in relief and turned pulling the taller man into his arms. "Good, Darlin'" 

They both jumped as a brilliant flash went off. 

"Woo Hoo! Hot pics!" Jubilee cracked her gum and laughed. 

"Very funny Jubilation." Logan frowned at her. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"The Professor said I could come if I stuck close to one of the old folks."

"Old folks?" Gambit raised an elegant auburn brow, "then you be in trouble, Gambit and Logan both spring chickens."

"Yeah right. 'Course you are." She smiled at them in the fond manner in which a teenager might look upon beloved uncles. "So was that an "in love" hug I was seeing there?"

Gambit looked at Wolverine questioningly.

"Yeah it was, Jubes. Got a problem with it?"

"Nope, I had just about given up on the two of you figuring it out on your own though."

"Wait there, mon petite, are you saying you knew all along Gambit an Wolvie should get together?"

"Course I did."

"Yeah, so yer psychic now, huh?"

"Nope, just smarter than you." She laughed and danced away as Logan tossed a pillow playfully at her head. "Seriously though, it's about time. Love you both, see ya later, Storm and I are going for a horsey ride."

"Gambit thought you a city girl."

"It ain't my idea, believe me. See ya later."

Gambit chuckled and waved her on before burying his head in Logan's neck. He felt safe and strong, wanted and needed at the same time. "This is how they feel together too, non?"

"I guess it must be." Logan kissed his shoulder firmly. "Hmm, if they're taking a horse ride we might have time to take a little ride of our own."

"It'll be embarrassing if they get back before we're done." 

"Maybe our ghost friends out there wouldn't mind throwing some cute little deer and bunny rabbits and crap in their path to slow them down a bit." Logan suggested as his hands found the buttons to the Cajun's shirt and nimbly opened them. 

Three hours later The Blackbird rose from its location in front of the hotel. Jubilee and Storm chatted excitedly to Jean and Hank about the horse ride and all the amazing things they had seen. Wolverine chewed on a cigar and covertly watched Gambit sleeping peacefully in his seat. He looked like some kind of demented angel with his lovely face and wicked grin. He gazed out the window watching the mist swirling around the wings of the plane. The Hollow was saying goodbye.

"You and Remy are an item now, I understand." 

He turned startled to look at Xavier where his chair was locked into the special slots on the floor. He nodded.

"Most of the X-Men and students will accept that without any problem, the ones that don't... Well, it isn't an easy path you have chosen. I am sure both of you are aware of it."

"Yeah, we thought about that, kind of."

"Your enemies might use your relationship against you as they have Jean and Scott's."

"Yeah, we've know that too. It won't be the first time for either of us. This time though, we're both with someone who is strong as we are. It might make a difference. Maybe."

The professor smiled sympathetically at him. His X-Men had all paid the price for their powers and he knew of at least three lovers Logan had lost to his enemies. Two of those had been innocents slaughtered just to hurt him. He would do everything in his power to keep that from happening ever again. "Good. Don't start thinking too much about the dangers and discomforts and do something stupid like leave for Remy's own good."

He was startled, he had not thought about it, but that was definitely something that would fit into his past track record. He tended to put his lovers in danger and more than one had paid the price for his love in their life's blood. He frowned but then froze as the professor spoke in a voice that was not his. 

It was deep, slow, and heavily accented with German. "Someone teach me that lovers always hurt one another. It cannot be helped. The true measure of love is getting past the hurt, weathering the storms together, letting the roots grow deep and strong until no matter how long or hard the winter is, spring will see it bloom again, always stronger and sweeter than it was before."

"Ichabod is pretty smart isn't he."

"Pretty and smart, yes, and much more. Much like your angel is mine."

"We thank you both... for everything."

"Come to the Hollow when you need a safe place. You have earned a place of sanctuary here."

"Thank you, Christiaan." 

Charles blinked rapidly and shivered. "It's cold in here." He apparently did not mean in the jet as he closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. "Was that someone you know, Logan."

"Yeah, a friend from the Hollow."

Charles looked at him curiously but Logan had no intention of revealing the whole story of what had happened and he was too polite to simply pull it from his mind without permission. It was enough to know Marcus had been avenged even if it was too late to save him. He relaxed back in the chair taking in the contented look on both his students' faces. Whatever had happened had brought about great good in the end and maybe that was all that mattered. 

Logan watched the forest below through the window. Here and their odd little flashes and balls of colored light drifted or zipped through the trees and occasionally a darker shadow passed over the mist that swirled and drifted everywhere. If he closed his eyes and stretched his senses past the rumble of the jet. He was certain he heard the rumble of thunder in a clear sky and the pounding of something that might have been a heartbeat or possibly the beat of a horse's hooves on the forest floor.


End file.
